


A Million

by CollingwoodGirl



Category: Miss Fisher's Murder Mysteries
Genre: Angst, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Missing Scene, Murder Under the Mistletoe, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-09
Updated: 2014-11-09
Packaged: 2018-02-24 16:42:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,104
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2588765
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CollingwoodGirl/pseuds/CollingwoodGirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What happened in that chalet between Jack and Phryne?<br/>One shot.<br/>Sorry kids, only implied smut in this one. Use your imaginations!</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Million

**Author's Note:**

> I recently watched "Murder Under the Mistletoe" and was captivated by a few moments that inspired this fic. Something changed between the time they were in the chalet and Phryne's party back in St. Kilda. Jack & Phryne were far too cosy & acting like the cats who ate the canary & the canary's entire family.  
> When Phryne says she'd have "paid a MILLION," the look on Jack's face is... Well. It's everything. Then, if you can get past the fact that "hemi-parasitic" is now the hottest word in the English language, the two of them are having some side convo when Jane's attempt to get them to kiss in front of everyone is finally thwarted.  
> Finally, I love the moment when Aunt P. throws her arms around her niece and Jack is completely gobsmacked at the outburst. I hoped it would give him and/or Phryne the kick in the pants they needed. It's a little melodramatic but, so was the episode. 
> 
> Also, poor Jack! He really is going to get a concussion one of these days!
> 
> UPDATE: So, I totally bungled the line where I thought Phryne said she "pay a million" to see Aunt P. kiss Bert. She says "I'd pay admission." Ah well, I hope the fic still stands. Much thanks to RosalitaW !
> 
> As always, constructive criticism is welcome. Thanks for reading!

They had marched Nicholas Mortimer back up to the cold room at gunpoint where Constable Collins had been waiting, baton and Darbys in hand. That young man was certainly coming into his own, Phryne thought as she had watched him wrestle the bastard - who had murdered four of their fellow guests, a defenseless child and dozens of trapped miners - into the heavy handcuffs. Perhaps it was accomplished a little more forcefully than had been necessary, but Hugh was not likely to forget that it was only by sheer luck that Dot had escaped the fate of the now deceased.

With her own injuries to deal with, Mac could not go cross-country to Jamieson as she had originally planned. And so, Miss Fisher had asked Chester to go the nearest residence and call for police assistance as soon as Mortimer's confession had been secured. Mortimer was a sociopath and needed to be removed from the presence of the people that she loved before she did something rash. When the local constabulary had taken him into custody, she had breathed a sigh of relief. Statements had been signed and the evidence that Inspector Robinson had dutifully tagged had been handed over. Arrangements were made for the bodies to be picked up as soon as they could arrange for the coroner. The sergeant had assured them it wouldn't be too long. A day or two at the most - the sun was shining and the worst of it was already starting to melt.

Dot had decided that the best way to fortify everyone's spirits was with her excellent tea and biscuits and they had gathered in small groups, sipping, crunching and talking softly, taking comfort in being near each other. Collins sat with his arm around his girl and she basked in his protective embrace. Aunt Prudence was speaking with Chester, who had his hand on the shoulder of young Isobel Darcy. Mac and Phryne were near the bar cart, pouring healthy doses of brandy into their tea.

Only Jack sat alone, contemplating this odd family to which he had found himself somehow belonging. He had come to realize the depths of strength and loyalty that ran in their veins. He had watched as Miss Williams had found the conviction of her own character. Jack had, himself, been on the receiving end of Collins' fierce devotion when the young man had risked everything to stand by his side not long ago. Mac stood, not only by her friend but, by the duties of her profession and had put her own life at risk - twice - to save the lives of others. Miss Fisher. Well, he was already aware that Miss Fisher's depths knew no bounds.

But Mrs. Stanley had proven to be the biggest surprise of all. He had overheard snippets of her conversation. She still planned to sell the mine once Mortimer was convicted and would put his share into a trust for Isobel. With the new, viable gold seam, it would be more than enough for the girl to make a life for herself once she was of age. Until then, Chester had agreed to look after her. And so, another non-traditional family was being created, right here under his watchful eyes. Isobel Darcy had lost her parents but she would have someone who cared for and looked after her. Several someones if Mrs. Stanley's protective tone was anything to go by.

Jack recalled his shock when, after being nearly drowned, Mrs. Stanley had pulled her niece close in a flood of emotion. He wasn't alone, if memory served. The recipient of her sudden outburst of affection had seemed quite surprised as well. He thought that there was more to the stately - and often stuffy - woman than met the eye. The way she took care of Arthur, her devotion to her godson Roland, taking in Mary and her newborn child. All of spoke to a woman who cared about people. He also doubted that Phryne would put up with her aunt's near-constant censure if there hadn't been a deeper understanding between the two headstrong women. Nevertheless, Jack found himself wondering if that was the first time Miss Fisher had ever truly known she was loved by her aunt. It was a very dangerous avenue of thinking to pursue - who loved Phryne Fisher.

It was almost a relief that something else began to eat away at his ability to think at all. Replacing the adrenaline that was quickly dissipating from Jack's brain, was the relentless tattoo of what promised to be a terrific headache.

He closed his eyes against the pain, unaware of Phryne slipping behind him, until he felt something brush against his hair.  
"How are you feeling?" she asked quietly, her hand replacing his on the icepack so he could finally lower his arm.  
Jack cleared his throat before answering, "I'm perfectly fine."  
"Liar," she said softly. "You're pale as a ghost. Go upstairs and rest."  
"Miss Fi-"  
"Jack," she interrupted in a familiar tone that not bode well for him. "Please don't force me to subdue you. I'd much rather save that pleasure for a happier occasion."  
When he couldn't even summon the strength to shoot her a dirty look, he knew she was right.

Phryne noticed the corners of his mouth draw down in refrained acquiescence and so continued in a much softer voice, "Can you make it up the stairs?"  
It took him a moment to answer. The throbbing in his head was growing steadily worse and the light in the room was starting to hurt his eyes. "I think so. But, I'd best make a go of it now."

Phryne guided the Inspector up the stairs and to his room, leading him with a hand wrapped around his bicep.

As Jack settled himself on the bed, Phryne pulled the drapes tight, blocking the bright sunlight's assault and blanketing the room in shadow. He sighed loudly at the reprieve.  
"Better?" she asked.  
"Better," he managed, though just.  
Her next stop was the small fireplace where embers still smoldered from the previous night's blaze. It wouldn't do a bit of good for him to catch his death of cold in the drafty room. She added more wood to the grate, fanning, feeding, and stoking until it was happily crackling along, banishing the seeping chill.

As she worked, Phryne ticked off signs and symptoms in her head. Jack had briefly lost consciousness and now he had a headache and was sensitive to light. But, there were no signs of nausea and he had remained more than coherent when questioning Mortimer and dealing with the local police. She had no reason to doubt that Jack's prognosis was a good one. But, still, Phryne worried because this was the first time she had ever seen him injured with her own eyes. She went to him, now and tended to him with the evaluating eyes of a combat-trained nurse and the gentle hands of a lover.

He shivered with the warmth that radiated off her body as she leaned over him, tucking pillows around him for support and situating the icepack to help reduce the swelling where stone had met skull. His shoes were gently removed and a warm woolen throw was brought up to his chest. Delicate fingers began to take turns circling his temples and applying steady pressure in long strokes just above each of his eyebrows. A flicker of self-preserving protest leaped from a far flung corner of his mind. But, it died long before it ever reached his lips. What came out instead was a soft groan of relief. Every heavenly touch eased the intensity of the pain in his head - if only for a moment - and Jack murmured in incoherent thanks before drifting off to sleep.

 

XXXXX

 

It didn't seem possible. He was her rock. Her strong, acid-tongued Detective Inspector. Not until she had seen him collapse in front of her did she realize she might lose him.  
   
She had already come perilously close to losing her aunt and her best friend. She couldn't lose Jack. Even as she had been "dancing" for the madman - playing straight into his maniacal fantasies - Phryne feared more for the bullet that would surely find its way into the Inspector's semi-conscious head if she didn't think of something quick. His number was next on the list after her own. She remembered wanting to drop to her knees in thanks when Jack came to and seized her own pearl handled pistol. Instead, she had made a witty remark to taunt the man who thought it amusing to kill innocent people. "I'm sure you've met Detective Inspector Jack Robinson!" Well, with her insides keening for him, her brain had no other choice than to work his name in somehow.

 

XXXXX

 

Jack had long been asleep and her ministrations had gentled to soft caresses, designed to alleviate - not the ache in his head but - the ache in her heart. Their relationship had shifted over the past few months - each of them growing bolder with their words, the liberties they took, getting closer to the truth of the feeling between them, placing less stock in the fears that had kept them apart for too long. For years, she had banished her heart to a self-imposed prison. Her own notions of what freedom meant were the very bars that held her in. She thought about how Jack had once locked her up in a cell to keep her safe and laughed under her breath. That hadn't worked, either. It hadn't worked because Phryne Fisher was no coward. She was a woman of action, a woman who seized what she wanted.

And what she wanted, she realized was astounding clarity, was to be with this man for as long as he would have her. She considered the long and winding path that had brought them to this place, sometimes taking long strides forward, often taking two steps back. Together, they had journeyed in darkness and in light. As equals. As friends. As partners. In every way but one. Perhaps the one that would set them both free.

There in the firelight, with Jack's face in her hands, Phryne made her decision. She smoothed her fingertips over his forehead one last time and slipped quietly from the room.

 

XXXXX

 

Jack woke hours later. The headache had lessened to a dull thud and he was able to open his eyes with almost no pain at all. Clicking on the small bedside lamp, he glanced at his watch. Six-thirty. Good lord. He had slept all day. No sooner had the thought been processed, his stomach gave a rumble of protest. He padded to the bathroom and splashed his face, not bothering to wait for the water to heat up. Considering he'd been snow-bound for the past fourty-eight hours, pursuing a homicidal psychopath with Miss Fisher, and sustaining a head injury in the process, he supposed he didn't look half bad. She, of course, had looked perfect. He tried not to be too resentful.

Making his way slowly down the steep stairs of the chalet, Jack spotted her in front of the fire. She was curled up on the chaise like a cat and reading a book, looking cozy in a thick, cream-coloured sweater, jodhpurs and heavy, woolen socks. At the sound of his footfalls, she closed the book and turned toward him. Her smile was wide but her gaze assessed him.

"Do I pass inspection?" he asked.  
"That depends," Phryne said cagily and shifted her sock-clad feet in a silent bid for him to join her.  
She looked carefully into his eyes, searching for any signs of deeper injury and finding none. "Your headache?"  
"Much improved," Jack replied, and then narrowed his gaze. "No doubt, thanks to your relentless interference."  
She lit up at the smirk that accompanied his remark, knowing it was the truest measure of just how much better he felt.  
"Well, I wouldn't put it all up to me. The thickness of your skull does come in rather handy sometimes." 

Reveling in the way his lips twisted at her, she knelt up to have a better look at his head. Gently, she pushed his hair away from the contusion, which had thankfully swollen out rather than in.

Jack sat awkwardly, clasping his hands in front of him and trying to ignore the heat that was building in his body at her sudden closeness. He was embarrassed at his body's reaction when Phryne's intention was clearly to look after him - not make overtures. Due more to the intimacy of her hands in his hair than the twinge of pain, he flinched.

"Jack, I'm sorry," her voice was no longer teasing but, flush with concern. "Did that hurt?"  
"Ah. No. No, it's fine," he stammered, smiling politely at her and hoping she hadn't noticed how hard he had just swallowed. She had. Smoothing his hair back in place, Phryne trailed her hand down the side of his face - never taking her eyes from his. "You pass."

Once again, Jack found himself floating in a sphere of suspended animation where nothing existed but him and the enigmatic woman beside him. In these fissures in time, a world of endless possibility seemed to open itself up to them, beckoning them to take the first step into the unknown - if only they had the courage. What he wouldn't give to kiss her right now. To pull her into his arms and tell her he never wanted to let go. But that was wishful thinking - the kind he couldn't afford. He tried, in vain, to recall something he had read that spoke to how he felt in these moments but the passage was just out of reach in his clouded brain.

The spell was usually dispelled by some inconvenient interruption, notion of propriety, or stab at preserving the status quo. Helpfully, Jack's empty stomach growled loudly and he suddenly found himself being pulled toward the kitchen.

 

XXXXX

 

They discussed the case at length over a simple meal of leftovers from the night before. Phryne was relieved to see Jack tuck in with vigor. He was, indeed, feeling much better - even letting loose a smile when she teased him about his rare glimpse of queasiness at the removal of Quentin's shoe. They polished off most of the roast chicken, half a loaf of bread and an asparagus gratin before surrendering.

"I really must hand it to Dot!" she gushed, wiping her mouth with her napkin. "Even cold, that chicken was delicious."  
"My Constable did have a hand in it, Miss Fisher," Jack reminded, if only to goad her.  
"Oh, yes. Excellent trussing. Do remind me to compliment him the next time I see him, won't you?"  
"The next time..." Jack broke off his sentence.

Come to think of it, he had not seen anyone else since he had come downstairs. It hadn't seemed unusual at first. He simply assumed that he had not been the only one to adjourn for a respite. "Where is everyone? Miss Fisher?"  
She felt his eyes upon her and avoided his gaze by carrying her dirty plate to the sink.  
"Phryne?"  
"They've gone," Phryne answered in the lightest, most unaffected tone she could muster.  
"Gone? Gone where?"  
"Home," she said, flicking an upturned hand into the air, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. "Hugh took Dot, Mac and Aunt Prudence back to Melbourne."  
The natural color that had returned to his face with rest and sustenance was quickly draining back out.  
"Really, Jack. Mac required medical care and Dot couldn't leave fast enough. There was no need for them to stay. We can easily deal with the coroner when he comes to collect the bodies."  
"But, that might not be for another day."  
"Or two." Phryne added softly.  
Jack gaped. He felt like he could hardly breathe as the implications of her words sunk in.  
"And, Mrs. Stanley consented to leave us here? After... after... ?"

Phryne didn't have to ask to what Jack was referring - the look on his face as he had stepped toward her in her vestibule, prior to her aunt's interruption, was burned on her brain. But nothing had happened between them since. Jack had been consumed with inquiries and reports on the Fletcher/Sanderson arrests. The fallout from the case was blowing up all over Melbourne and she had done her best to keep her distance, not wanting to taint Jack's reputation or give the defense an opportunity to use their partnership as leverage. Now, she desperately hoped that she had done the right thing.

"Not exactly. Chester and Isobel were planning to stay right up until an hour or so ago. But Isobel couldn't face spending another night here, not that I blame the poor girl."

The Inspector could completely understand why the young lady would not wish to stay at the scene of her father and mother's murder but, that didn't make his predicament any easier. He wasn't kidding down in the mining tunnels. He was scared of Miss Fisher - more specifically, of the power she held over his heart.

"Regardless. You had no right to dismiss my constable!" he spat, index finger pointing at Phryne in accusation. It was far easier to argue than face up to the emotions that were threatening to reach up from his breast and strangle him.

She spoke in a calm but firm voice. "After the arrest of Nicholas Mortimer, your constable had the good sense to recognize that he was no longer serving in a professional capacity. He asked my permission to shepherd one injured and two distraught women home to seek the aid they needed and I gave it."

With that, Phryne crossed the threshold back to the main parlour with the intention of pouring herself two fingers of whiskey. But Jack pushed his chair out from the table and strode after her, shouting, "I am his superior officer, Miss Fisher. Not you!"

"True," she agreed, meeting his gaze but determined not to get dragged into a fight. "However, I granted a personal request. Not a professional one. Though, it is getting harder to distinguish between the two. Isn't it, Jack?"

Her words knocked the wind out of his sails and Jack flopped down into an arm chair, washing his face with his hands.

Kneeling down at his side, she continued gently, "That's why you're here, after all. When you learned we were up in the mountains, isolated, with a killer on the loose? The choice you made was personal. Why else would you and Hugh drive all that way through a blizzard instead of calling the local authorities?"

Jack listened in silence, considering her words as he stared into the fire, his hands tabled in prayer, covering his mouth as if to restrain the words that threatened to bubble up to the surface. She was right. Again. His desire to protect her had overpowered almost every ounce of sense he possessed. 

He couldn't deny it and told her so with a flick of his gaze. But what he hoped she didn't know was the eagerness and anticipation he had felt at the chance to work another murder case with her. The way all his senses fired when she challenged him with evidence. The way he felt so incredibly alive whenever he was near her.

"I was shocked to find you at the door. Do you remember?"

He nodded, remembering the confounded look on her face, the way she had been too surprised to remember to offer them entrance.

But he also remembered the last time he had seen Phryne standing in her own doorway, clad only in a black embroidered robe when he had materialized, unbidden, making excuses for the attention he had paid to his ex-wife. How he had half-expected her to run out into the street after him when her aunt's watchful eye had forced him to retreat. But, she hadn't. And no invitation to dinner had come the next day or even the day after that.

Jack had no choice but to assume that he had misread the signals. That once again, his feelings were far more personal than hers. It seemed she had really meant it when she had said, "until our next murder investigation."

"You didn't need me, though. You foiled the caper." A wistful smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.  
"We did it together," she told him, trying to explain. But she could see by his thin-lipped smile, it wasn't enough.

 

XXXXX

 

They sat for some time, neither speaking a word, each wrapped up in their own thoughts. Phryne moved back to the chaise and picked up her book, skimming the poetry she already knew by heart, trying to find a way to tell him how she felt. Jack continued to stare into the fire, fragments of their conversation ricocheting in his head.

When Jack's voice broke the stillness, it nearly startled her, "Will Doctor Macmillan be alright?" He had forgotten in all the ensuing chaos that she, too, had sustained a head injury.  
"I think so. A few stitches and some proper wound care so she doesn't develop an infection," she assured him, adding in self-deprecation, "Hardly the kind of skills I can provide on an isolated mountaintop."  
"As a recent patient, I'm not complaining."  
Phryne smiled at that.  
"And, you certainly were a comfort to Mrs. Stanley," he said, finding that he was still curious about the exchange he had witnessed the day before.  
"Yes. That was surprising," Phryne admitted. "She had only just turned me away for getting too... I don't know... Emotional, I presume." Looking down into the pages of her book, she added "Though, I suppose an attempt on your life will do that to you."  
"Do what?"  
Phryne shrugged, in an unconscious gesture designed to diminish the caliber of the words she was about to say, "It takes some people a near-death experience to finally acknowledge their feelings."

She had every intention of holding Jack's eyes in a steady gaze, willing him to understand her meaning. But, as she looked at him, unbidden images flooded her mind's eye.  
_His interview room papered with pictures of missing girls. A hand reaching for her as she knelt under the willows at the head of the river. Fortunes told. A scarf looped around her neck. Tears in his eyes as he tore himself from her life. The way she asked for his help. The way he asked for hers. The timbre of his voice as he sang to her. The intention under his skin when he moved toward her._

She was getting to the heart of it and Phryne's eyelids flickered and fluttered shut, as she allowed herself to feel.

Jack averted his eyes uncomfortably. He could not begin to imagine what she was thinking. But her words made him recall - all too well - the feelings that he, himself, had been forced to acknowledge when he had thought her dead. Not since the war had he been in that much agony. When the truth was finally out, he had all but admitted that he loved her. That he found himself unable to go on without her. That in order to survive, he must do just that.

Of course, that was not a decision he had been able to live with so, he put aside his own feelings to preserve their partnership. Jack could not be ashamed that he had loved her - and loved her still. But, he deeply regretted how much he had hurt her.

When he saw the tears clinging to the tips of her lower lashes, flickering like jewels in the firelight, Jack nearly came undone. He was still managing to hurt her, somehow. Rising quickly, before he made things worse, Jack headed straight for the bar cart and relished the way the alcohol seared the hard lump forming in his throat. He poured another and pressed the glass of amber liquid into her hand along with a mumbled apology.

"What can I do?" Jack asked, his voice cracking in spite of the whiskey.  
Setting down her empty glass, she took his hand in hers and tugged him down to sit beside her. It was obvious that she had upset him. How was it possible that she could prattle on for hours on nearly any subject from foreign affairs to the pros and cons of the bias cut dress and yet, she could not find the words to tell this man how she felt for him?

"You've nothing to be sorry for," she tried to reassure him.  
Jack didn't exactly believe her but, it was clear that she was not going to elaborate. So he did the only thing he could. He pulled a handkerchief from his trouser pocket and offered it to her.  
"Always the gentleman," she chided softly as she dabbed her eyes and nose with the soft cloth, tucking it into the sleeve of her sweater to wash later. "Thank you," she said with a small smile and covered his hand lightly with hers. "I'm glad you're here, Jack."  
"So am I," he answered truthfully.

Feeling somewhat relieved, Jack deigned to change the subject to something less treacherous, "What are you reading?"  
She held it up and revealed the gold stamped letters of a fabric-bound copy of Antony and Cleopatra. "An old favorite."  
Suddenly, the passage he had been struggling to remember earlier came back to him with full force and the words tumbled out before he could stop them. "Eternity was in our lips and eyes. Bliss in our brows' bent."  
"Jack," she whispered, her voice deepened by whiskey and passion, determined to seize her chance. "An eternity with you might not be enough."

He searched her face, not daring to believe, when a warm hand cupped his jaw, drawing him so close he could only look directly into her eyes. Phryne slowly closed the gap and brushed his lips with hers. She felt him freeze. Just as slowly, she pulled back, looking for a sign that it wasn't too late. That she hadn't thwarted his love for too long.

 _It takes some people a near-death experience to finally acknowledge their feelings._ Realization dawned on him.

"Phryne, what are you saying?"  
"That I want you. Only you. If you'll have me."  
Jack's face softened and a boyish grin began to spread across his lips. His eyes danced with a spark that was determinately not from the reflection of the firelight.  
"Maybe," he teased, the right corner of his mouth pulling upward. "But, just for a million."

She moved to kiss that smirk right off his face but, Jack was faster. With one hand nested in her hair and the other wound around her waist, he pulled her against his chest and kissed her. Tenderly at first, wanting to savor the feeling of her soft lips between his. But when he felt the hot swipe of her tongue, he responded with an unbridled passion that he had often dreamt about but had never known.

"Forget what I said about the million years," he panted between the shower of open mouthed kisses Phryne was feathering on his throat and jaw, "Eternity it is." He felt her laugh before he heard it, the vibrations setting nerves alight down his spine.

 

XXXXX

 

"Miss Fisher! I thought I told you to stay in your own quarters?!"  
By the candle she carried, he could see that she was wrapped up in a heavy dressing gown, her thick, woolen socks still on her feet. He felt a rush of relief that, with her volume of clothing, he would be able to keep his wits about him for the ensuing argument - an advantage he had lost earlier, downstairs, when he had attempted to draw a gentlemanly boundary in their petting.

"Jack, you know perfectly well I don't follow orders. Besides, I was cold and lonely. And here you are... all warm and inviting," she cooed, peeking under the bed coverings. "Wait," she clucked, "Inspector, are you still wearing that jumper? To bed?"  
"Hmph!" he puffed, hating it when she had his number. "It's drafty in here. You're still wearing your socks!"  
"Yes. Though, perhaps it's not enough," she breathed, dropping the dressing gown to reveal nothing but a cream coloured dress slip. She surveyed him with amusement, noting how his bottom jaw had dropped open an inch, his Adam's apple jumping.

"Didn't you pack anything warmer?" He knew it was a stupid thing to say but, he couldn't think straight. The slip was nearly transparent and it skimmed her body like a second skin.  
"Of course, Jack. But I wasn't prepared for nocturnal company, so I had to improvise. Flannel pyjamas aren't particularly charming... Or persuasive."  
She stood there for another minute while Jack stared at her helplessly, torn between his honorable intentions and his baser instincts.  
"Well?" she shivered, deciding to make the choice easier for him. "Are you going to invite me in or let me stand here and freeze?"

He pulled back the covers and she slipped in beside him, snuggling close for warmth, her cold nose nuzzling his neck as her hands snaked their way beneath his jumper, making him shudder. He wrapped his arms around her and felt her shiver, too.  
"What did you mean when you said you weren't 'prepared for nocturnal company'?"  
She laughed. "Oh Jack. If I had known you were going to show up on the doorstep, I would have packed something far more enticing."  
Gulp.  
"Not to mention, something far more practical." She answered his quizzical expression with two simple words, "Family planning."  
Her fingers blazed fire as she traced along the waistband of his own cotton flannels. "I'm afraid we'll have to improvise around that little snag as well. But, there's no harm in taking things slow."  
Now, it was Jack's turn to laugh and his low rumble echoed through the room. Only Phryne would think that sharing a bed with him, mere hours after declaring her intentions, and engaging in god knows what unspeakable acts (he hoped) - that weren't strictly intercourse - was taking things slow.

"Perhaps that blow to the head was worse than I thought. I think I might be hallucinating."  
"Then you'd better kiss me again, before you suffer a spell of amnesia."  
"That could never happen, Miss Fisher. You're entirely too exasperating to forget."

With that, Jack slashed his mouth over hers and took her in a deep, searing kiss that was the beginning of a night neither would ever forget.


End file.
